


Mamihlapinatapai

by ClintFuckingBarton



Category: South Park
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Cigarettes, Depression, Drug Addiction, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slight Prostitution, Suicide, Weirdly fluffy scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClintFuckingBarton/pseuds/ClintFuckingBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig Tucker used to enjoy smoking alone.  Unfortunately for him, Kenny McCormick enjoys smoking in his company.  Even more unfortunately for him, he can't seem to avoid getting further involved in Kenny's life.</p>
<p>Fucking weird.</p>
<p>((This is going to be longish.  Rating could change to mature later.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mamihlapinatapai

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally was just writing a weird scene and it quickly spiraled out of control into an idea for a multi-chapter mess. I really hope people like it. UHHHG AVERY HI. That's all.

The air in South Park, Colorado is bone-chilling and sharp. Ground covered in snow. Mountains in the distance draped in the same blanket. The sky is an unwitting blue, as though it doesn’t realize that it’s supposed to be gray when it’s cold out--the sun trekking along in some sort of act of clever defiance. It smells distinctly of mountains, cows, and melting snow…oh, and nicotine, but that was probably his fault.  
  
“Class started like ten minutes ago.”  
  
Kenny McCormick hardly acknowledges the other’s presence, taking another long drag on his cigarette, watching the smoke flee into the air in a steady cloud. The faint heat is keeping his face warm, hood of his parka down for ease of access, glove from his right hand removed long ago so he could really feel his smoke.  
  
“I didn’t know you were a hall monitor today,” he finally comments, tapping his smoke casually against his other sleeve to dispense some ash.  
  
The other boy takes a moment to eye the blond with a deadpan expression, voice never leaving a singular tone, “We’re not even in the hall.”  
  
“I think I was trying to comment sarcastically on the fact that you’re telling me what to do,” Kenny threw out a grin, taking another lazy drag, “you’re not in class either. So, what does it matter to you anyway, Tucker?”  
  
“I’m headed back from the counselor’s office.”  
  
“They moved the counselor’s office to outside the school? Fuck, you learn something new everyday.”  
  
“Fuck off, McCormick, I was popping outside to—”  
  
“—catch a smoke?”  
  
At some point Kenny had pulled out his box of cigarettes—a beat to hell pack with only about three sticks remaining—and was now shoving it out to Craig as though he were offering him popcorn at the movie theater.  
  
“Yeah.” The other admits, taking one from him and sticking the end into his mouth, before shoving his hand into the pocket of Kenny’s parka and pulling out the lighter that everyone knew was always there. “Still. One of us has an excused note with an ambiguous time-frame. The other of us does not. You just decide that you’re too good for history class or what?”  
  
“Kyle said I could copy his notes,” he shrugs, snatching the lighter back the second Craig was done with it, slipping both it and the box back into his pocket, “besides, do I look like I give a flying fuck about history class?”  
  
“I don’t think anyone gives a flying fuck about history class. But you notice you’re the only one who just decides not to come sometimes…”  
  
“Other people duck out of class,” Kenny retorts, taking the last drag on his cigarette and blowing the smoke straight into Craig’s breathing space, “some of them even make up bullshit reasons to go to the counselor’s office so they can avoid math.”  
  
Craig just stares in response as Kenny pulls his hood back over his head, gives a dumb half-wave, and starts back toward the main doors of the school.  
  
They didn't talk much, but when they did, this was how their conversations usually went.  
  
Fucking weird.

* * *

  
It was three days later, three whole days, and the high school lunchroom was deafening.  That wasn’t abnormal in any definition of the word--it was, after all, a high school lunchroom.  It was however, annoying.  In many definitions of the word.  Especially to a dark haired teen who had been suckered into sitting inside today by a particularly adorable blond.  
  
 ~~No, not Kenny, reader.  Tweek.~~   He’d seemed so hopeful and Craig just couldn’t say no.  Besides, Clyde had promised that they would let him rest his head on the lunch table, which Craig knew meant Clyde was willing to trace those little circles on his back that he liked so much...  
  
...in retrospect, he should’ve just stayed outside like usual, taking in the scent of snow and cows and sneaking a smoke.  
  
“Is it Kyle or Wendy this week?”  he overheard someone ask from the table behind him.  
  
“Uhnnuoh.”  The near-unintelligible reply muffled by a parka that was always drawn all the way around another person’s lips.  
  
“I just wish he’d make up his fucking mind already.  Or break down and become a polygamist.  It’d be easier than keeping up with this relationship juggling bullshit that he keeps pulling.”  
  
“Mmm.  S..ns frnnhu thhhoh.”  
  
“Yeah, I know he’s our friend but that doesn’t mean I should have to give him a free pass to bullshit town.  Fuck, _Kinny_ , he can be such a whiny little bitch.  ‘Guys Wendy dumped me last night’, ‘guys, Kyle and me got in a fight’, ‘guys, me and Wendy are back together but Kyle’s still maaaad’!”  Craig heard the distinct sound of Eric Cartman slamming his head against what he could only guess was a binder or the table,  “I’d rather play footsie with Kyle for five hours straight than be forced to listen to another tiny little snippet from _Days of Stan’s Lives_.”  
  
The laughter that followed was muffled and a little bit higher in pitch.  Kenny.  Impossible to confuse with anyone else’s due to the almost musical nature of it.  And it was always explosive, just a little contagious.  Especially when it came to Cartman, for some reason Craig wouldn’t understand if he lived 100 million years.  It continued on, and he found himself opening his eyes again, staring at the gray of the table, wondering if it would be tactless to turn around and ask Kenny what was so fucking funny about a lame Soap Opera reference.  Sometimes that kid could be so--  
  
“So, decided what you’re doing for your social sciences project yet, Craig?”  
  
Pulled from his eavesdropping by Clyde, who had yet to cease tracing light circles between his shoulder blades.  
  
“Not yet.”  
  
“Yeah, me either.”  
  
He looked up from the table, and brushed his hands against his pants.  It really was too loud in here, and crowded, and he didn't know what he was thinking coming inside in the first place.  “I think I’m going to go out and catch a smoke.”  
  
“You’re going to get lung cancer.”  
  
He shrugged, standing up and mussing Tweek’s hair.  “Wanna come?”  
  
“I--uh!!  N-no...!  St...staying inside.”  
  
He expected that much, but he didn’t really want company anyway--smoking was always better when he was alone...  
  
If only he could’ve actually _been_ alone.  But for a town so small, true solitude really was a commodity, and he was only a few drags into his cigarette when he felt a body slide down the wall next to him, an ungloved hand holding a stick out lazily.  
  
“Got a light?”  
  
“Is this going to become a thing?”  
  
“Hmm?  As I recall you’re the one who bummed a fag from me last time, Tucker.  Besides, I’m just asking for your lighter.”  
  
His tongue moved and pressed against the inside of his cheek, but he flipped his lighter out and opened it for the other, lighting his smoke.  Silence passed for the next few moments, the only sounds their breath as they inhaled...exhaled...inhaled...Craig heard a cow moo across the way, and the distinct noise of a single car passing by the school.  Everything was white, crisp...but somehow, incredibly bleak.  Neither said a word, and by the time his new companion did speak up, Craig had almost forgotten he had company.  
  
“So, do you just get tired of being indoors, or what?”  
  
“What?”  His eyes moved sideways to fall on the blond.  His hood was down, and a glove was off.  From the times they had run into each other between classes, or at lunch, or at parties, Craig knew that this was traditional smoking posture for Kenny McCormick.  
  
It was always weird because even now that they were older, Kenny rarely took his hood down, and that blond hair was altogether a little too unfamiliar.  
   
“You come out here a lot.”  
  
“I just come out here to smoke.”  
  
Kenny smiled.  “Me too.  But you can’t deny that it’s nice and quiet out here...”  
  
“Yeah, it is quiet.”    
  
“Just wondering if maybe it’s more than the nicotine fix that brings you out here...”  
  
“Or it _was quiet_ until you came along.”  
  
“You’re kind of a predictable guy.”  
  
“So you’re stalking me?”  
  
The deadpan tone was probably the reason that Kenny started laughing.  Not that it was special to that sentence--Craig always spoke like that.  But it made the whole situation a little unclear--did he really think Kenny was stalking him, or was that a joke?  Pretty much only Craig knew the answer.  
  
The blond bent a little at the waist, his gloved hand clutching his side lightly, eyes closed with that painfully melodic sound.  A part of Craig wanted to smile, but he didn’t.  Instead he took another drag on his cigarette, not even bothering to say a word.  It took the passing of another 20 seconds for Kenny to straighten up, breathe out the last remnants of that laugh, and gently bump Craig in the arm.  
  
“Nah.  Just bending my own schedule a little to purposefully be where you are.  Does that constitute a stalking accusation?”  
  
“You just used so many words I wasn’t aware you were capable of using.”  
  
“I’m poor, not dumb, asshole.”  
  
“I think I was commenting on the fact that you're not usually this vocal."  He raised an eyebrow,  "What you just said actually does kinda sound like stalking to me, though.”  
  
Kenny smirked, leaning into Craig’s breathing space to exhale,  “I’m only like...a mini-stalker.  Admit it, you like my company.”  
  
“I liked being alone out here.”  
  
“Yeah, me too.  But three days ago you were the one invading my alone time, so you’ve gotta expect me to return the favor somehow, Tucker.”  
  
“I’m _so_ happy that I tried to keep you out of trouble the other day and now you’re repaying me with the glorious gift of your _stalkitude_.”  
  
Kenny shrugged,  “Hey, I’m sorry for trying to be nice.”  He dashed his cigarette out on the pavement and pocketed what was left of it, moving to stand,  “I’ll try to remember that you’re a giant prick next time I get the urge to try and--”  
  
“McCormick, dude...”  
  
He didn’t know when he’d grabbed the edge of Kenny’s parka, but it was pretty embarrassing that he had.    
  
“...learn to take a joke and sit back down, asshole.”  He removed his hand from Kenny’s person, and withdrew his lighter again, holding it out.  “Wanna relight?”  
  
Kenny heaved a sigh and settled back down on the ground, “Sorry.  Guess I’ve been kinda tense lately.”  He held up a hand though, shaking his head,  “This is the last one I’ve got for now, I can’t afford another pack this week.  Gotta save the butts to try and resmoke what I can.”  
  
“Are you making poor jokes about yourself now?”  He fished in the pocket of his jacket...he could’ve sworn it was in there somewhere...  
  
“No.”  Kenny said, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly.  “But if it comes down to a choice between my smokes and Karen’s lunch, my choice is pretty clear.  Besides, it’s not like I’m trying to fool myself or anything--I am pretty fucking poor.  No shame in it.”  
  
Craig frowned, but his fingers finally touched what he was reaching for, withdrawing a box and holding it out to Kenny.  “Maybe you should quit--but here, take them.”  
  
“Maybe I should.”  The blond reached out, though, and slipped his fingers around the pack with a smile most uninterpretable.  “Dude are these slims?”  
  
Craig could tell Kenny was about to bust up laughing, so he aimed a well placed _look_ his direction.  Not really a glare.  More like...well, the same expression Craig always made, but he tried to think malice toward him, but it sort of ended up as indifference.  A lot of things in Craig's mind ended up as indifference.  That was pretty much all he felt, these days.  “I could take them back if you wanted.”  
  
The blond slipped the pack into his pocket, though, and pulled his hood back up, fingers slipping around strings to pull it nice and tight.  He fastened a button on the inside, which pretty much meant that he would be speaking Kenny-language from here on out, but luckily Craig was pretty well versed in the art of deciphering it.  
  
“Nh.”  Kenny stood back up, and replaced his glove.  And before the other could even argue, the orange-clad boy had already started back toward the school entrance.  But as he moved, Craig could’ve sworn he’d heard a muffled ‘Thank you’, and he could’ve sworn that it sounded extremely sincere.  
  
Fucking weird.

**Author's Note:**

> I switched tenses/styles on purpose. If it bugs you, you're welcome to kick my shins.


End file.
